Coco: The Remix (and other assorted one-shots)
by Atarah Derekh
Summary: A series of one-shots based on the movie.
1. The Remix

**Coco: The Remix**

In which Hector and Miguel discover remixes of Hector's songs (both covers and as sung by de la Cruz). Miguel likes them. Hector does not.

 **AN:** These one-shots operate under the common fanon idea that Miguel has become a medium as a result of his adventures in the Land of the Dead.

* * *

Usually it was Imelda who tended to be greatly irritated by rapidly advancing technology that was well after her time. Particularly since, in the Land of the Dead, it took a _very_ long time for modern technology to gain acceptance and general use among the denizens of the afterlife. Whether that was due to the stubbornness of the elders, or the fact that it was only appropriate that the city run on "dead" technology, Hector couldn't say. All he knew was that when it came to music, he was in agreement with his wife on the subject of modern tech. The simpler, the better. An acoustic guitar was much more preferable to the fancy gadgets needed to operate all those electric instruments. Not that Hector couldn't appreciate the efforts younger musicians put into their work, but digital sound studios and electric riffs just weren't for him.

And where Hector usually agreed with his great-great-grandson on just about everything, electronic music tech was one subject on which they differed.

Miguel had been gifted a brand new smartphone for his 14th birthday, and it was through the device that he first introduced Hector to the internet, with its overwhelming worlds of YouTube, Spotify, Pandora and more. As much as Hector enjoyed the unique opportunity to interact with his grandson, especially outside of Dia de los Muertos, he found himself having to frequently cut off an enthusiastic Miguel as the boy rapidly flipped through a variety of songs faster than the poor skeleton could hope to keep up.

"When is the Land of the Dead gonna build some cell towers, anyway?" Miguel asked one day, on his way back to the dead Rivera home after a mission. "You guys could really use cell phones at least."

"Ehh, who knows?" Hector said with a shrug. "We've always done just fine without that kind of thing, so it'll probably be a while before anyone decides we need all that stuff. I mean, a few of the younger generations—the ones who really shouldn't be here in the first place—have some of that stuff, since they died with it on them. But they don't really use it much here."

"That's because this place has no wifi."

"No what-fi?" Hector raised a brow ridge at the foreign word.

"No wifi," Miguel repeated, holding up his phone to show his ancestor. "See that symbol that kind of looks like waves coming off of a dot? If I were connected to wifi, it wouldn't be grayed out like that. When I tap on it, it says there's no wifi available here."

"But you use that phone thingy to play music all the time while you're here."

"Yeah, but that's because most of my songs are downloaded onto my phone."

"I see," Hector said, half-mumbling. The truth was he didn't see; Miguel had tried to explain the concept of "downloading" to Hector before, but it always went over the elder Rivera's head. Hector had resorted to simply nodding and pretending he understood.

"There's some wifi that bleeds in from the living world if you get close enough to the crossing point," Miguel explained. "It's not fast enough to stream media content, so that's why I always wait until we're in the living world to show you. It's too bad you guys don't have wifi here. I could totally Skype with all of you!"

"What's Sky—oh, never mind," Hector began, interrupting himself to wave off the notion. He was tired after helping Miguel with his mission, and didn't feel like getting into a technical discussion. Besides, he knew Miguel would try to explain the idea to him in due time. "We're almost home, chamaco. Let's grab a bite to eat, then get you back to your own home."

As always, Miguel was warmly greeted by his deceased relatives upon entering the compound of the Rivera hacienda. He lingered with Mama Coco, the only relative present whom he had known in life, giving her a quick rundown of the mission he'd just completed.

"At least the policia are starting to believe me now," Miguel said. "But I'm glad they don't make me do creepy stuff, like look at dead bodies. They said I'm too young for that. But Chief Gallego told me I have a gift for forensic science. He said I should look into making it a career."

Coco grimaced. "Oh, Miguelito, I don't know what I think about you spending your life around crime scenes. They get so disturbing."

"You're telling me," Miguel said. "I don't get to see much of the crime scene at all, and I'm happy about that. I'd rather stick to interviewing the victims. But my favorite cases are the ones that the living have almost forgotten, so I hope my next mission is one of them, and doesn't involve any murders, suicides or disappearances at all. Besides, I'd rather go into music and marketing. You should hear the jingle Manny and Benny helped me come up with for the zapateria's new radio commercial!"

Miguel grabbed Hector's guitar, which sat near the sofa, and began strumming a catchy rhythm on it. The tune itself was skillfully written by Miguel, and Hector easily started tapping a hand on his knee along with the beat. The lyrics, however, were obviously written from the perspective of a small child, and Miguel seemed to be attempting to imitate his young cousins' voices as he sang. When he finished, the Riveras applauded.

"Oh, such an adorable song!" Mama Coco exclaimed. "Que lindo! The twins helped you write that?"

"They sure did. They discovered rhyming in school recently, and are actually really good at coming up with little rhymes of their own. They were making up this little rhyme about the shoes we make, and I thought it would make a good jingle for the business. I had them help me pitch the idea to Abuelita, and she loved it. I had to help them finish writing the song, because some of their lyrics didn't make much sense at first. But we recorded it, and they both sing in the commercial. People in Santa Cecilia love it!"

Hector beamed with pride. He woke up every day thankful to have finally been accepted back into his family, and hearing that music had not only returned as well, but was now being utilized in furthering Imelda's vision, thrilled him to bits. Especially since he lacked any skill in making shoes and still often found himself wondering exactly where he fit in this family whose very identity revolved around shoes. It was good to see that Miguel wasn't dealing with the same struggles, but had found his niche. He used music in his job as a medium as well, and that was one area where Hector was always eager to help out.

"Miguel, it's nearly sunset," Mama Imelda pointed out. "I know you want to spend all night talking, mijo, but you need to get home."

Miguel nodded. "Si, Mama Imelda. Can I take an elote to go?" He nodded toward the kitchen counter, where Tia Victoria had just set out some trays of the corn-based treat.

"Si, claro," Imelda said with a nod. She then turned to her husband. "Make sure he sits down to a healthy supper when he gets home," she instructed.

Hector chuckled. "I think between Elena and Luisa, he won't have any choice in the matter. Come on, chamaco! We gotta get you back before your living family worries."

"M'coming!" Miguel mumbled over a mouthful of elote. He gulped down his bite, wiped his face on his sleeve, then turned to give Mama Coco a quick peck on the cheek. "See you on Wednesday, Mama Coco!"

"You be a good boy, now," Coco said in reply.

Miguel dashed out of the house, grabbing Hector's arm on the way by. "Come on, Papa Hector! I found a great new song on YouTube that I wanna show you when we get back to the land of life and wifi!"

"Esperas, chamaco!" Hector called, scrambling to catch up. "Wanna wait for the rest of me, por favor?"

Miguel paused mid-stride to discover that he had _only_ Hector's arm. He grinned sheepishly as his grandfather caught up and took back the limb.

"You gotta stop doing that, kid," Hector said, trying and failing to be annoyed as he reattached his arm.

"Sorry, Papa Hector."

* * *

Once they'd crossed back to the living side, Miguel whipped out his phone and pulled up YouTube. He showed Hector several new songs he'd discovered. As Miguel scrolled through a list of suggested videos at the end of one song, Hector noticed something.

"Wait wait wait...'Un Poco Loco' is on YouTube?"

"Well, of course it is," Miguel said. "That's the thing about the internet; if something exists, that's where you'll find it. This looks like a remix, though. Let's check it out." He tapped on the video.

"A remix?" Hector questioned.

In response, the phone produced a sound vaguely similar to the tune of the song he'd written to win Imelda over 100 years earlier, but which had been modified heavily with...well, Hector didn't know what. He winced at the music—if he could even call it that—and gave a disgusted grimace. If he'd still had a tongue, he would've stuck it out.

Miguel, on the other hand, seemed to be enjoying the song thoroughly.

"Man, that's a good beat! I like this remix!"

" _That's_ a remix?" Hector said, incredulous. "They completely ruined the song! It's not supposed to sound anything like that!"

"Well, that's the idea of a remix, Papa Hector," Miguel said defensively. "It's not supposed to sound like the original, except in lyrics and basic melody. The idea is to take the different sounds in the song and put a new spin on them with electronic music. Some remixes are really bad, but this one's pretty good."

"It's awful!"

"Aw, you're just not used to it."

"And I don't want to _get_ used to it! I don't even want to _know_ what they did to butcher 'Remember Me!' I thought de la Cruz's version was bad enough!"

"That's a bit harsh, don't you think?"

"If anything, it's not harsh enough!" Hector slumped, crossed his arms and pouted.

Miguel rolled his eyes. "De la Cruz was playing a stolen song, and he took it to make himself famous. He didn't want to make a new piece of art out of it. He just wanted to make money. These guys just wanted to experiment; be creative, you know?"

"They can be creative with their _own_ songs!"

"But if someone is doing fan art of your work, that's how you know your work is really inspirational. Besides, there's not really anything anyone can do about it. Mira, this song is from the last year, and fans are already doing remixes of it."

Miguel pulled up a newer song that Hector had previously heard. The remix on this one was even more upbeat than "Un Poco Loco," and while Hector wasn't attached to the song as it certainly wasn't his work, he still didn't like the remix.

"Why can't people be content to just play songs the way they were written?" he whined.

"Um, because if you do the same thing over and over again, it gets boring and old?"

"If my songs are so boring, how come they're still popular after nearly a century?"

"Because they keep getting remixed. Even if it's just in little ways, like changing the tempo and adding another instrument here and there, or playing it on an electric guitar instead of acoustic."

Hector opened his mouth to retort, then closed it again. He honestly had no response to that.

Miguel sighed. "Papa Hector, I understand if you don't like the remixes of the songs you didn't want to make public. But you gotta understand that for the songs you did want to play for the world, the world is gonna take those songs and put their own spin on them. That's how people work. When something really grabs them...they wanna personalize it. They wanna make it their own."

"A good half of the songs that were stolen from me were never intended for the world," Hector pointed out. "What did they do to Coco's lullaby?"

"We can find out," Miguel replied. "There are two videos here that look like remixes."

Hector glared at the offending smartphone for a long moment, then, against his better judgment, said, "Fine. Let's hear how badly they ruined 'Remember Me.' So I can know how angry to be."

Miguel tapped on the first video. The remix in question was a cover performed as a duet, and had extra lyrics, in both Spanish and English. While it was more upbeat than Hector's song, it certainly wasn't the showy, bombastic insult de la Cruz's version had been. The beat was catchy, but the song was fairly quiet. Hector found himself drumming his fingers in spite of himself.

Once the song was finished, Miguel immediately pulled up the second. This one was a remix of the cover Miguel had recorded with Hector's permission. It was the one and only time Hector had agreed to allow the song to be published, and that he only did so that the world would know for a fact that de la Cruz's version was all wrong. The remix was much different than the previous ones Hector had listened to. It incorporated elements of other songs, yet remained soft, slow and gentle. It was relaxing, and the love Miguel had poured into it still shone through, enhanced, in a way, by the additions.

The song ended, and Miguel looked expectantly at Hector. "Well?" he asked. "What did you think?"

Hector pursed his lips—well, the bony projections that passed as artificial lips—and scowled. "It's...not as horrendously bad as I expected," he said finally. "Could've been way worse, I suppose. Still...I like the original better."

Miguel chuckled. "That's okay. So do I. But I still like remixes. If they're good."

"Well, you have your tastes, and I have mine," Hector conceded.

Miguel grinned. He let the argument drop, but smiled the rest of the way home. It was nice to win an argument about music against the man who had, indirectly, taught him about it in the first place.

* * *

Wednesday rolled around, and just as promised, Miguel made his way to the Rivera home in the Land of the Dead. As he approached the hacienda, he heard an odd cacophony of sounds coming from inside. He found his Mama Imelda right inside the gateway to the hacienda compound, glaring at him.

"Hola, Mama Imelda," he greeted apprehensively. "What's...going..."

"I trust _you_ are responsible for this, Miguel?" Imelda bit, jabbing an accusatory finger at him.

"Responsible for what?"

"Your great-great-grandfather has been in there all morning with all manner of instruments, pots, pans, and any noise makers he can get his hands on. He said _you_ gave him the idea! Ay, Santa Maria, he is giving everyone a headache!"

Miguel glanced around Imelda and into the compound, where Hector sat, trying to drum, strum his guitar, play an accordion _and_ control a phonograph that appeared to have some crude microphone hooked up to it. Surrounding him were the pots and pans Imelda had mentioned, as well as a washboard, maracas, wind chimes and assorted knickknacks. The skeletal musician glanced up to see Miguel and grinned.

"Hola, chamaco! Come help your Papa Hector make this remix!"

Miguel buried his face in his hands and groaned. He didn't know how, but he had created a monster.


	2. Matchmaker

Julio could tell Elena was distracted by something.

Elena and Victoria were the physical embodiment of what happens when one tries to split the strong personality of Imelda Rivera in half. Victoria was the no-nonsense, stoic, rigid half of her abuela. Elena was the fiery, nurturing, opinionated half. But both girls had inherited Imelda's focus and drive. So when one of them lost focus, it was a notable out-of-character moment for them.

And considering neither of them ever did their leather work and sewing absentmindedly, Julio knew the moment he observed Elena falling into a daydream-like trance while working the sewing machine that something very important was on her mind. Or perhaps, someone.

Most fathers, upon realizing their daughters had their eye on a man, would immediately wish to know two pieces of information about him: What's his name, and what size coffin does he take? Julio was a shy and gentle man, but would've readily pondered the same questions if his seemingly love-struck daughter had not inherited her grandmother's extreme pickiness when it came to men and eagerness to use the chancla to deter unwanted advances, which precluded any need he had to be concerned about a potential suitor's intentions toward his little girl. As it was, Julio found himself asking the first question, but the second was replaced with, "How soon can we twist his arm into proposing?"

Julio had his suspicions. Elena often enjoyed taking the long way home from the market, passing by some of the farms on the edge of town. Located out there was a small ranch that had provided locally sourced leather to the zapatería before. And Julio knew they had a boy around Elena's age. He had also noted the time Elena volunteered a little too quickly to deliver an order out to that very ranch. Julio knew his daughters well enough to know that they were always the perfect businesswomen, regardless of how they felt internally. So if Elena was interested in the ranch boy, she certainly wouldn't have taken advantage of her delivery task to talk to him about anything other than the business of making shoes. It was a fault of both his daughters. If a boy was even remotely interested in either of them, they refused to converse with him on any topic other than shoes. Julio didn't know whether it was fear or genuine disinterest—though with Victoria, it was very likely the latter—but talking shop all the time was no way to win a husband. Why, if Coco had done that with him, he would've taken it as a sign that she was not and would likely never be interested in him, and his shyness would've prevented him from pursuing the matter further. Frankly, he was forever grateful Coco had broken her mother's cardinal rule banning music from their lives, or she might not have found a meaningful way to connect with him. Even if both of them agreed to abide by the music ban thereafter, they would never forget meeting through the beauty of dance, and it would be a moment they would cherish together forever.

But Victoria and Elena had grown up under the music ban, and had never once questioned it. They knew nothing but shoes and business. That was their family's identity, and they were fine with it.

Unfortunately, their limited interests in life in general also limited men's interest in them. And if all Elena seemed to be interested in were shoes and how they were made, Julio was not at all certain how she might go about wooing this young man she seemed to be infatuated with enough to run her sewing all the way to the end of the piece rather than pivot where she had intended to.

Elena caught her mistake and muttered under her breath. Julio sidled up to her and, with a teasing grin, very brazenly asked, "So, mija, what's his name?"

Elena froze, then started turning a deep crimson. "Wh-what do you mean, Papá? Whose name?"

"This young man who has captivated your thoughts so much that you would make a mistake like that." He pointed at Elena's sewing. "It has to be a boy. I can't think of anything else you would allow to distract you."

There was one thing Elena had inherited from Julio's side of the family, and that was the tendency to try and hide her embarrassment by tucking her chin down into her blouse collar and hunching her shoulders. It was the trademark quirk she shared with her father. Victoria and Coco jokingly called it their "turtle impersonation." Elena hated having this habit pointed out to her, which only caused her to do it more. Julio chuckled as Elena pulled the same move now, but didn't call attention to it. The act, along with her silence, confirmed what he'd guessed.

"Is he muy guapo?" Julio prodded.

"Papá!" Elena exclaimed. "I'm trying to do my work!"

Julio threw up his hands. "Okay, no need to get upset. I just wanted to know who might've caught my little princesa's eye, that's all."

"Who said it was a boy?"

"Well, mija, I've never seen you get that dreamy look on your face when thinking about your mamá's pan dulce, or any pair of shoes."

By this point, Julio was convinced that if Elena turned any redder, she might be seen glowing as far away as Mexico City. He chuckled again. Being a father was so much fun, especially now that his girls were old enough to be thoroughly embarrassed by their old man.

Elena tried to ignore him and return to her sewing. Júlio shrugged and turned back to his own work. He'd give it a few minutes and tease her again in a bit. Enough of that would eventually cause her to break down and shout the information he sought at him just to get him to leave her in peace.

"His name is Franco."

"Victoria!"

Julio turned around in time to see Elena lob a sandal at her sister's head. The elder, taller girl barely moved to dodge it, a smile twitching at her lips.

"You're welcome," Victoria said. "I just saved you the agony of having Papá pester you for the next hour about your crush."

Elena spluttered. "First of all, it's not a crush! I never said I had a crush on anyone! Second, now Papá's just gonna pester me _more_ about it, and the whole workshop knows about it thanks to you!"

"There are only three of us in here," Victoria pointed out. "And even if the whole family were in here, why would you care that they knew you most definitely did _not_ have a crush on a farm boy named Franco?"

"Girls, girls, calm down!" Julio called, trying very hard not to laugh. Elena had worked herself into a frenzy, and was, really, the only one of the two who needed to be told to calm down. Victoria was as calm as ever, barely smirking as she carved a pattern onto a piece of leather. Júlio turned to his younger daughter.

"Alright, mija, I won't tease you about this Franco boy anymore. But have you talked to him?"

Elena ducked her head. "Yes. No. I mean...I've talked to his parents before. For business. They're very dedicated to their work. And they teach their children to be so as well."

"This is good," Julio said. "It's important to have a good work ethic. A man can't support a family if he's not willing to work hard to get things done."

"Nor a woman," Victoria added.

"Sí, very true. Your abuela is a very hard working woman who supports this whole family."

"And her example is why I must also get back to my work," Elena said. "So if everyone could please stop bothering me, that would be just lovely."

Victoria rolled her eyes at Elena's sardonic tone, but didn't respond.

Julio returned to his work as well, a plan forming in his mind. He knew Elena might not work up the courage to speak to this Franco about anything other than business unless she was pushed. So Julio would just have to be the one to give her that nudge. And he had an idea of how to do it.

* * *

Julio's suspicions were spot on. He had set out for the edge of town on the pretense of business, and had made his way straight to the ranch where he was certain that boy lived. He'd interacted with the family several times before, and when he knocked at their door, they were quick to invite him in. Júlio felt a twinge of guilt as he explained his purpose for visiting to the parents of the object of his daughter's secret affections. But his plan wouldn't work without their cooperation. He was delighted to learn that Franco's feelings were mutual; he had long been interested in Elena, but the reputation that the Rivera women had for fiercely refusing men's advances had caused him to hold back.

Even better was the fact that Franco was certainly in need of new work boots. His were clearly worn, so being gifted with a new pair wouldn't seem so out of the blue. His parents introduced him to Julio, saying it was high time Franco replaced his boots, and that they had called on Julio to take Franco's measurements.

Franco and Julio conversed easily as Julio worked. The young man had a disposition very similar to Julio's own, and he seemed the honest type. Elena was very close to her papá, and it pleased Julio that she sought his qualities in the personalities of the men she met.

"So how old are you, Franco?" Julio asked.

"Twenty, señor," Franco replied.

"Is that so? I have a daughter around that age."

Julio tried to avoid glancing up from his measurements to see Franco's reaction. But he could tell by the young man's uncomfortable shifting in his seat that he'd achieved the response he wanted. Franco had a classic farmer's tan that darkened his brown skin considerably, but Julio was certain that the boy's blush could be seen right through it. A smile twitched at Julio's mouth, hidden for the most part by his mustache.

"You may have seen her walking down the lane," Julio continued to probe. "She likes to take the long way home, away from the noise of the plaza." He intentionally omitted the part about the music that was a constant presence in the plaza. If this boy was to take an interest in Elena, he would have to come to the decision on his own to cut all ties to music. Julio didn't want to sway his decision in either direction just yet.

Franco continued to shuffle nervously. He coughed to clear his throat. "I...I may have seen her...a time or two...coming this way. I've seen her in the market, too. She's..." he stumbled, trying to find the right words. "She's very...fierce. Doesn't let anyone push her around or tell her what to think."

"Sí, a strong will and temper is a Rivera woman trait," Julio agreed. "I felt I was taking my life into my hands when I asked my mother-in-law for her daughter's hand." He chuckled at the memory. "Imelda is extremely protective of our family, and my Elena's inherited that protectiveness from her abuela."

"That's good," Franco said. "I can't imagine anything happening to my family. I would go crazy if they were hurt, and I wasn't able to help. My mamá, she can take care of herself pretty well as it is, but when she and Papá are on the warpath together, watch out!"

"A real battle couple, eh?"

Franco chuckled. "So much so. There's not a beast in Oaxaca that doesn't fear the very sound of their names whispered at night."

"That would explain why your folks so rarely lose a cow or horse."

Franco nodded.

Julio finished his measurements and tucked his notepad into his apron. He stood and offered Franco a hand to shake. "It was a pleasure meeting you, Franco. And your new boots will be delivered in three to ten business days. Or if you like, you can swing by the zapatería yourself and pick them up."

Franco blushed and shuffled his feet. "Um...if it's not too much trouble...I'd like them delivered. I...have a lot of work to do on the farm. And if I simply wait for them to be delivered, I won't make myself a bother for a week straight if they're not finished in three days."

Julio chuckled, suspecting the young man didn't want to "bother" one person in particular. "Suit yourself. We'll deliver them, then." He tipped his hat and turned to leave the house.

"Señor!" he heard Franco call after him. He paused and turned.

"Does...anyone in your family enjoy trail rides? Because we have several good horses. So...if anyone wants to come around...Iwouldbehappytotakethemonthetrails..." The last few words came out in a mumbled rush.

Julio gave Franco a sly grin. "I honestly couldn't say. You'd have to ask her yourself."

Franco's mouth dropped open, and he quickly clamped it shut again as he turned bright red. He opened and closed his mouth several more times, but no words would come.

Julio kept his ear-to-ear grin on his face as he turned back toward the road home, leaving a very embarrassed Franco alone on his family's porch with his very poorly kept secret crush.

* * *

When Julio returned to the store, he immediately placed the order slip on top of the stack of incoming orders. Coco was at the counter that day and didn't miss her husband's bemused grin as he pressed the slip in place.

"What are you up to, mi amor?" Coco asked. "That's a rather suspicious smile."

Julio shushed her and leaned in so she could hear his conspiratorial whisper. "I just took an order for new boots, and I'd like Elena to make and deliver them."

Coco's eyes widened and she stiffled a giggle. "What kind of boots?"

"Ranch boots."

"Aha," Coco said, understanding immediately. "Yes, she has been out that way quite a lot, hasn't she?" She gave her husband a playful slap on the shoulder. "But you! Setting up our daughter like that. How shameless!"

Julio chuckled, removing his hat and holding it at his chest in feigned apology. "Guilty as charged. Whatever shall you do with me?"

Coco gave him a coy grin. "I think I can come up with a suitable punishment, to be administered well after business hours."

"Ah, yes, business before pleasure." Julio leaned in to give his wife a kiss on the cheek. "I'd best get back to the daily grind."

"Speaking of which, we're out of coffee again," Coco said.

Julio sighed. "Good heavens, between your mother and our daughters, we spend more in coffee than we do in groceries!"

"I know. But if we don't keep those workaholics supplied, there's bound to be a mutiny."

"Noted, querida. I'll just send your tíos out to purchase more, since they're the ones truly terrified of your mamá when she's deprived of caffeine."

* * *

In accordance with Julio's plot, Coco was careful to omit the recipient's name when she gave Elena the order to fill.

"Work boots?" Elena questioned as she looked over the order. "But Mamá, I've never made work boots before."

"Well, now is the time to learn, mija," Coco replied. She held up a finger as Elena began to protest. "No arguments! I have every confidence in you. You're very good at this. You always have been. These boots should be no trouble for you at all."

Elena sighed and turned to pick out the finest leather for her first pair of hand crafted work boots.

* * *

Elena threw herself into her assignment wholeheartedly, not wanting to chance messing anything up. She didn't even hear the whispers and titters that passed between her parents and grandmother as they discussed the plot. Nor did she pay attention to the knowing glances Victoria kept sending her way, having figured out exactly who the order was for. The only ones left in the dark besides Elena herself were Tío Oscar and Tío Felipe, whom no one in the house trusted to keep this secret from Elena.

She worked late into the night, hesitant to leave a seam half-stitched or a design half-pressed. She started the soles over multiple times, each time muttering about how they weren't quite right. After three days of nearly working her fingers to the bone, she was able to hold the shiny new boots aloft and triumphantly shout that they were finished.

Imelda immediately came over to Elena's table to inspect her work. She scrutinized every stitch in the leather, humming over the design and running her fingers across the eyelets. She lifted the tongue, running her hand along its underside and inspecting the inside of the boot. She turned it over and noted with satisfaction the expertly placed Rivera seal on the sole.

"It looks excellent, mija," she declared.

Elena released the breath she didn't realize she'd been holding.

"But now comes the real test," Imelda continued. "Customer satisfaction."

"Well, he can come and pick them up anytime," Elena said.

"Oh, did I forget to mention?" Julio called from across the shop. "This customer specifically requested that they be delivered. As the proud maker of her first pair of boots, I think it's only fitting, heh, that you deliver them, mija."

Elena gave an exasperated sigh as she ran her hand through her hair. Truth be told, she was exhausted. She didn't want to go traipsing across town when the customer could just as easily come and pick up his own order. But one raised eyebrow from her grandmother told her this assignment was non-negotiable.

"Alright, Papá. What's the address?"

"I have it written down for you," Julio said, walking over and handing her a slip of paper.

Elena took the paper and looked over the name and address of the recipient, oblivious to the silence that had settled on the room as everyone present waited for her to absorb the information. Even Oscar and Felipe paused in their work, looking up curiously to see why everyone had gone quiet. A grimace crossed Elena's features as she recognized the name and address. She glared up at her father.

"Papá! Really?"

Julio held up his hands. "He needed new boots," he said innocently.

Elena turned red and began to splutter, but Imelda shooed her out of the shop, handing her a box and dropping the boots in it along the way.

"No protests! The customer is waiting for his boots! Go now! It won't take you long if you hurry."

As Imelda forced Elena out the door and closed it behind her, the family chuckled as they heard Elena let out a frustrated growl.

"I'll get you all for this!" they heard her vow. "Especially you, Papá!"

"You'd best be prepared to hide when she returns, querido," Coco suggested. Julio merely shrugged in response and returned to his work.

* * *

It was a few hours before Elena burst through the door again, launching into a tirade. She jabbed an accusing finger at Julio.

"YOU! You set me up on the most embarrassing, excruciating, amazing delivery job ever, and I'll never forgive you for it!"

Julio was fully prepared to duck for cover when his irate daughter returned, but he was rooted in place when he noticed that Elena was dragging something—or someone—into the shop with her. A very confused yet very happy Franco allowed himself to be yanked inside, his brand new boots clomping on the floor. Julio grinned.

"Hello, Franco," he greeted. "I trust the boots are to your satisfaction? Or was there something about them needing our attention?"

"They're perfect, señor," Franco said. "I've never had a new pair of boots this comfortable. I feel like they don't even need to be broken in! Elena did an excellent job." He turned to meet her gaze, and the two blushed, looking away from one another with shy smiles.

"And you were worried he wouldn't like them, mija," Julio said.

"I'm still mad at you, Papá," Elena said, not wanting to admit defeat. "And just for that terrible trick you pulled on me, I'm gonna tell Abuelita that I'm taking the rest of the day off to go on a trail ride, and you've agreed to take over the rest of my daily responsibilities." She dropped Franco's hand to cross her arms, making it clear that she wouldn't take no for an answer.

Franco, meanwhile, hadn't missed Elena's answer to his invitation. His face lit up, and he turned to her. "Really?" he said, delighted that she had agreed to go horseback riding with him.

Imelda sat on the opposite side of the room, working on her own orders. She had paused long enough to take in the entertaining scene before her, and wasn't surprised by Elena's ultimatum.

"Be back by sunset, mija," she said, giving her permission to carry out everything Elena had demanded in recompense.

Elena beamed, turning to her mother for additional permission.

"You heard your abuelita," Coco said.

"Gracias, Abuelita," Elena said, turning back to her grandmother.

"Wait," Oscar said, he and his twin standing at their workbench looking thoroughly confused.

"Is Elena going out with a boy?" Felipe asked.

"As in, a date?"

"With a new novio?"

Elena rolled her eyes. "Yes, tíos, I'm going out on a date with Franco."

The twins grinned and high fived one another, as if the whole thing had been their idea. "Oye! Our little Elena has found love!" they shouted in unison.

Elena brought her hand up to her face and groaned.

Nearby, Victoria had watched the whole ordeal in silence. But now that her sister had a love interest who could feasibly be seen joining the family one day, if her papá's meddling had anything to do with it, she had something to say about the whole affair.

"Of course, you know what this means," Victoria said slyly.

"No, I don't know what it means, Victoria," Elena bit, still thoroughly annoyed at the day's events.

"It means that Papá took the liberty of asking Franco's shoe size for you." She gave Elena a subtle wink.

Elena let out a mortified screech and swept her sandal off her foot. "Victoriaaaaa!"

Victoria let loose a satisfied laugh as she dodged her sister's swipes with the chancla. The two of them dashed toward the kitchen, right past a beet-red Franco and a very amused Julio, Elena shouting every insult just shy of a curse word that she could conjure.

Julio turned to the farm boy and gave him a warm smile. "Best of luck to you," he said simply.

"Thanks," Franco muttered, glowing with embarrassment. "I'll need it."


	3. Enrique's Foley

**Enrique's Foley**

In which Enrique "celebrates" the lifting of the music ban by experimenting with his own secret passion: Sound design. Exposition dump to start, but dialogue later. Drabble.

 **AN:** I don't know why, but I love the idea of Enrique being into sound design and having a Foley studio. So this is my chance to explore that. Enrique the poet is not an idea original to me, but it's a much beloved idea, so I had to reference it.

* * *

If Enrique were honest with himself, he'd have to admit he was jealous of his son.

Now, Enrique had plenty of his own talents and passions, one of which being poetry, and he was proud of Miguel's natural talent at the guitar, and thrilled to bits that Miguel finally had the opportunity to develop his God-given abilities. He had no reason to be jealous, really. And yet he was.

Miguel had honed his guitar skills secretly in the attic for years, somehow able to keep the family in the dark while he became so adept on his homemade instrument (the construction of which was an impressive feat in and of itself) that he was able to surprise the world when he finally appeared on the scene in Mariachi Plaza. Even after that eventful Dia de los Muertos, there was still some lingering resentment between Miguel and his abuelita over the smashed guitar and the fact that Miguel was keeping such a secret in the first place. Elena's easing of the ban for Miguel to play regularly for Mamá Coco had been the olive branch she'd proffered, and Miguel in return had sworn to never hide anything from his family again (though Enrique couldn't help feeling Miguel wasn't being 100% truthful about where he had disappeared to that night; locked in a dead man's mausoleum and experiencing nightmares was believable, but it didn't explain Miguel's sudden knowledge of the true identity of his great-great-grandfather). Peace was restored in the family, and Elena eventually lifted the music ban altogether, allowing Miguel to begin teaching his cousins some songs.

The newfound freedom allowed Enrique and Berto's wives to break out their old records. The two happened to be sisters, and they kept a shared collection of albums at their parents' house. They were eager to share their favorite songs with the family, and dance and karaoke parties soon ensued, much to a still-hesitant Elena's chagrin.

There had been many a time since then that Enrique had shaken his head in bewilderment at Miguel's ability to practically upend the family for the better. But he also couldn't avoid feeling a twinge of guilt when he became ever so slightly resentful that Miguel had managed to keep up his own passions in secret for so long, ultimately winning the family over to them, while Enrique hadn't had a prayer at maintaining his own secret passion.

But instead of dwelling on the past and fighting back envy, Enrique decided to throw himself into that one thing he'd been deprived of for too long. He was going to set up his own sound studio.

Strictly speaking, sound wasn't music; music was just one type of sound. And Enrique had always loved sound design, being fascinated as a child with the few radio shows he was allowed to listen to, wondering how they did the sound effects (surely they weren't _actually_ shooting off guns and cannons in the recording studio, and who can fit a whole thunderstorm indoors?). He was good at imitating sounds himself, and was known to be very noisy as a child. Franco had joked that Enrique had two settings: Mute and hurricane. He'd learned to balance the two as he matured, but he never lost his love for sound design.

The only problem was that his mother thought sound design was dangerously close to music. A sort of gateway drug, as it were. Besides, Enrique was well aware that the only school anywhere close to Santa Cecilia that offered a sound design course was in Mexico City. And Elena would hear nothing about any of her children going so far away for their education. Not when they had a perfectly decent career already established right where they were at. Enrique could have tried to defy his mother by setting up a secret studio in the attic, but he would never have gotten away with it as Miguel did. Not when the very nature of his passion was noise.

But with the music ban lifted, Enrique was finally free to experiment once again with sound design. The only remaining trouble was that he had no idea how to start.

Miguel, on the other hand, knew exactly how to launch himself into his own music career.

"I don't have to go to a college out of state, Abuelita," Enrique heard Miguel arguing one day at breakfast. "I don't even have to leave Santa Cecilia, really. They have college courses on the internet now. I can do that."

"We only ever use the computer for keeping track of orders," Rosa pointed out.

"So I save up the money I make in the shop and buy my own computer. It's not like I don't have plenty of time to do that. Besides, if I'm gonna do any recording, I'll need a computer anyway."

"And what do you need to record for, eh?" Elena asked. "We can hear your songs just fine here."

"Because the world is still convinced that those songs that Papá Héctor wrote belong to Ernesto de la Cruz. They don't know how they're really supposed to sound. Even when we get the letters back from the lab, and everyone knows they're authentic, people still need to know what Papá Héctor wanted his songs to sound like."

"It does seem like a better option than a tour all over the country," Luisa offered.

"Exactly!" Miguel said, smiling. "If someone wants to discover me, they can do so over the internet. I don't need to leave home and end up getting poisoned on my way to the train station by some back-stabbing best friend out to steal my work."

"That's...weirdly specific," Enrique said.

A smile twitched at Miguel's lips at that response, though Enrique couldn't guess why. "I'm pretty much convinced de la Cruz is a murderer," Miguel said.

"You've said that before, but you've never brought poison into it," Enrique pointed out.

"Oh, well...it just makes the most sense. I mean, if he was shot or stabbed or something, it would be a pretty obvious crime and there would be an investigation. And then Mamá Imelda probably would've found out what happened, because they would've had to ask her."

"He could've drowned in a river," Rosa suggested.

"Or gotten attacked by a jaguar or something," Abel added.

"Plus, Mexico didn't have much in the way of forensic science in 1921," Rosa finished. "He could've died a really violent death and they still would've just written him off as some unlucky stiff who had no business traveling alone so soon after the revolution."

Miguel glared at her. "It was definitely poison," he insisted.

"Whatever," Rosa quipped, turning her attention back to her breakfast.

Miguel was about to continue the argument when Enrique decided to step in and change the subject.

"So, mijo, tell me more about this song recording studio you apparently want to set up here at home. What kind of equipment would you need?"

"And who said we're getting him recording equipment?" Elena asked. "Even if we had room for it, our budget is very tight right now. We need to save every last peso that doesn't go back into the shop for the baby and for your Mamá Coco's care."

"I plan on saving up for that stuff, Abuelita," Miguel promised. "I won't take anything out of the shop's earnings."

"That's very responsible," Berto said.

The answer seemed to placate his abuelita, so Miguel turned back to his papá. "I've been looking stuff that I need up online. I'll need to get some really good headphones and a few microphones, and I'll need to get some sound mixing software to put on my computer when I get it."

Enrique leaned forward, interest piqued. "Sound mixing software?"

"Sí, that's a very important part of music production. You can add sound effects to your songs, sure, but more important is being able to mix the sounds of different instruments just right. I can get a microphone that clips onto a guitar, but I should also probably get a boom mic."

"A what mic?" Luisa asked.

"You know," Enrique answered, "one of those overhead mics that they use for news broadcasts from out in the field. The ones with the fuzzy covers on them."

"That's called a dead cat," Miguel said.

Somewhere nearby, Miguel could've sworn he heard an alley cat growl its disapproval of the term. A growl that sounded very much like a smaller version of Pepita's low rumbles of disdain.

"It's not a literal dead cat," Miguel quickly clarified. "It's a wind muff, but people started calling it a dead cat because...I guess it looks like one when it's just laying around unused?"

"Interesting," Enrique said. "When you get this studio set up, do you suppose you could show me a thing or two about sound mixing?"

Miguel gave his papá a surprised look. "Sure, Papá. I...didn't think you'd be interested in that stuff so quickly, though."

Enrique shrugged. "We all had things we were...curious about as children."

Elena raised an eyebrow at him, which quickly dropped into a furrowed position. "Such as what things, mijo?" she asked curtly.

Enrique sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck. "Well...do you remember when various potentially noisy items such as pots and pans would go missing, then suddenly turn up quite dented and smelling vaguely of the creek?"

"The ones that started our loudest fights over whodunit?" Berto said.

"My good cookware!" Elena said, realization dawning. "That _was_ you! Ay, and I believed you when you swore your innocence!"

"There were certain advantages to being the baby of the family," Enrique said with a shrug. "I spent quite a few days discovering all the different sounds one could make with metal, water and wood. Some of them don't sound remotely like any of those materials."

Miguel's face lit up. "You're a Foley artist? Qué padre!"

"Um...sure? I guess?" Enrique had no idea what "Foley" was, but he had to assume it was some musical term. Fortunately, Rosa demanded the explanation for him.

"What the heck is a Foley artist?"

"Foley is the name for creating sound effects that they use in movies, TV shows and radio shows," Miguel explained. "A Foley artist is someone who can take all kinds of random objects and create some really cool sounds with them. Like, you know that laser shooting sound on some cartoons? They did that with a slinky, a piece of cardboard and a drumstick!"

"No manches!" Rosa said.

"It's true! Foley artists really have to think outside the box for the sounds they want. Because there are some sounds that just don't record very well from the actual source, so they have to be made up. Or some sounds just don't exist, so they have to be invented."

Enrique suddenly smiled. After a lifetime of desperately avoiding anything even remotely musical, suppressing his own passions in order to uphold the family tradition, he finally had a name for what he'd long wanted to do. Just being able to identify it filled him with a joyous feeling. He turned his enthusiastic grin on Miguel.

"So what if we went in on some recording equipment together, mijo? You can play your songs and I can play with anything else that makes a few cool sounds."

Miguel beamed. "Yeah! We can even set up a whole sound effects library for you, and maybe you could even start licensing your sound effects for people to use!"

"Would people actually go for that?"

"Absolutely! Producers are always needing some good sound effects for their shows."

"Alright, after the shop is closed for the day, you can show me what we'll need to get started." Enrique took a bite of his breakfast, eager to get moving on the day's obligations. "Sound like a plan?" he asked around a mouthful of huevos.

Miguel followed suit, stuffing his mouth and nodding eagerly.

As the father and son duo scarfed their meal, the rest of the family looked at one another in bewilderment. What had just happened?

Luisa smirked and focused on her own plate, while Franco gave a quiet chuckle. Elena shook her head and walked into the kitchen, muttering something about her best cookware being destroyed by crazy, noisy, rebellious children and grandchildren.

* * *

After that, every evening after the zapatería closed, and several lunch breaks as well, were spent down at the library, researching online for the best sound recording equipment and software, and checking out books on sound design and music production. The frenzied research was only interrupted by progress on Miguel's investigation into the life and disappearance of his great-great-grandfather, and by the birth of baby Socorro Rivera. Even when Enrique was too tired from helping care for the infant to also assist Miguel, Miguel continued their research on how to start a sound and music studio. And of course, there were plenty of times when Miguel would assist with the care of his baby sister, giving his parents a break.

Having music back in the home also helped tremendously with Mamá Coco's care. She enjoyed more moments of lucidity, and when she wasn't praising Miguel for his songs (which he'd been playing on a rented guitar while he waited for his Papá Héctor's guitar to be lawfully returned to them), she was laughing in delight at Enrique's Foley experiments—though his primary audience was the baby, who initially thought her father was by far the weirdest creature she'd ever seen or heard, but was soon squealing with laughter right along with her namesake.

Spare time was spent using any recording device they could to capture ambient sound effects, from the birds singing to Dante's many noises. Miguel was convinced they could make a mixtape out of the sounds.

"It's a form of music," he explained. "You take ordinary sounds and edit them together in a way that produces a really catchy rhythm or tune. Dante could make his own songs this way, and we could call them Xolo Tunes, or something like that."

It was a glorious several months for Enrique and Miguel as the two bonded over their similar passions in a way they never would've thought possible before. Enrique found just the joy of spending time with his son was far greater than the excitement of developing his own skills as a Foley artist. Whatever had happened that Dia de los Muertos, Enrique couldn't help but be thankful for it.

It was all abruptly interrupted by two major events, however. The first of which being the return of Héctor Rivera's remains, having been exhumed and examined by forensic investigators, verified by DNA to most likely be Coco's father, and confirmed to have traces of arsenic that exceeded the surrounding soil where they were found. With the verification of the authenticity of the Rivera letters, and de la Cruz's subsequent plummet from fame into infamy, the Rivera family suddenly found themselves thrust into the national spotlight, and Héctor's homecoming was an affair covered thoroughly by the press. The family burial plot was upgraded to an open-air shrine, and Héctor was carefully re-interred next to his wife. Miguel was permitted to play Héctor's white-skull guitar at the funeral, as the famous instrument had been at last given over to its rightful owner's proper heirs. Mamá Coco remained in a fairly lucid state throughout the service, tears streaming down her wrinkled face as she repeated joyously, "Papá is home. Papá is finally home." Elena's eyes had been no drier as she held her mamá's hand and reaffirmed that yes, Coco's papá was finally home where he belonged.

Not two weeks later, the Riveras buried their Mamá Coco next to her parents and husband.

Miguel had been the one with her in her final moments, playing her lullaby on the white guitar. She'd drifted off peacefully, a smile on her face. Miguel didn't seem the least bit shaken, in stark contrast to much of the rest of his family. What tears he shed were mostly happy tears, knowing Mamá Coco had been reunited with the family she'd so desperately missed.

"I'm really gonna miss her," he said, leaning into his papá's shoulder as they stood over the freshly dug grave. "But I'm also really happy for her. I just know she finally gets to see Papá Héctor again."

Enrique held his son close. Miguel had always been more of a mamá's boy, and prior to the lifting of the music ban he would've most likely gone to his mother for comfort. But lately he'd been confiding more and more in Enrique, and that was something that Enrique would cherish for as long as he lived.

A thought came to Enrique's mind. "What say we take a break from the sound design for a bit?" he said. "I haven't written a good poem in a while, and I think between the two of us, we could come up with something for your Mamá Coco. And maybe Papá Héctor too."

Miguel smiled. "I like that idea, Papá. But before we can produce it, we need to buy our studio equipment. Since we have the money now."

It was certainly true. The Riveras had received an enormous settlement from the de la Cruz estate, which covered all of the licensing of the songs he'd stolen. They were richer than they could've ever dreamed. And they certainly had enough money to buy all the sound equipment they wanted. They even they had enough money to add onto the hacienda if they wanted—which Elena fully intended to do, as many parts of the house and workshop were in desperate need of repair.

"So how about we get started on a new song for you to play for the family this year at Dia de los Muertos?" Enrique suggested. "And once things settle back into a normal routine, we'll go purchase that new computer and all the stuff we need to record your songs."

"Sounds perfect," Miguel said with a smile.

As they stood there enjoying one another's presence while bidding their loved ones farewell, Enrique sighed. He studied Héctor's shiny new headstone for a moment. " _I never thought I'd say this in a million years, given everything we were taught about you growing up,"_ he thought. " _But thanks, Papá Héctor. I'm still not completely sure how, beyond the obvious, but I know these moments wouldn't have been possible without you."_


	4. Ice Cream

**Ice Cream**

In which Gustavo desperately tries to apologize to Héctor, and Héctor decides he has to do him a favor to earn his forgiveness.

 **AN:** As per a request left by a guest reviewer. But please log in to leave reviews. I can't respond to you otherwise.

* * *

Gustavo felt horrible. He honestly, truly did. After all the mocking he'd given poor Héctor, to find out the awful truth about the ragged skeleton's demise at the hands of Mexico's most beloved singer had left the violinist feeling like he'd been punched in the gut. He was a cad.

He wasn't alone in his remorse. His band mates, who had been at the rehearsal that night when Héctor and some random kid (who they found out later was alive) showed up asking about de la Cruz's exclusive party, also felt like the heels they were. It was considered inappropriate for the living to speak ill of the dead, especially on Dia de los Muertos, but Gustavo was starting to believe there were notable consequences for the dead who spoke ill of one another as well.

Well, when a man's honor has been impugned, it is only right that the offending party offer recompense, lest his own honor be called into question. Gustavo had learned this at a young age, and he knew what he had to do.

So one evening, after the hype from the shocking reveal at the Sunrise Spectacular died down, Gustavo gathered his band mates at the rehearsal hall and gave his speech.

"Friends and fellow musicians, we have wronged someone, and we need to make it up to him somehow. We must find Héctor and apologize to him for all the times we mocked him about his death."

The response was silence. The musicians glanced at one another awkwardly. Gustavo grunted in frustration. "Oh, come on, guys, I know I'm terrible at speeches, but you can at leas humor me! I'm serious! I can't be the only one who feels all guilty about making fun of a murder victim."

"It's not that, Gusto," one of the other violinists said. "It's just...we won't be able to apologize."

"Ah, come on! It's not that hard! We just find out where he lives, and..."

"Rumor is he's already been forgotten," the trombone player interrupted. "I guess he was having spasms that we didn't see while the camera was rolling. People are saying he was forgotten by the living before they could send the boy home."

Gustavo's figurative heart fell. "Oh..." he mumbled.

Well. So much for that.

* * *

It was a number of weeks before Gustavo tried to follow up on the rumors that Héctor had faded into oblivion. And if the violinist were honest, they were the worst several weeks of his afterlife.

It wasn't as if he hadn't also died a similarly ignoble death to the one he'd believed Héctor had suffered either. He had only been in his 50s, and had been in a drunken bar accident that involved dancing with a far too friendly, broad shouldered man of questionable sexuality atop an unsteady table near the stone mantle of the fireplace. He could never quite recall exactly what had happened, but he knew from the stories that had followed that he likely would've been mortified at his state the next morning, had he lived to regret it. Teasing Héctor about "choking on chorizo" was an effective way to deflect the embarrassment away from himself and onto someone else.

The guilt that gnawed at him for his gross hypocrisy kept him awake most nights, and severely affected his music. While skeletons couldn't exhaust themselves the way the living could, they still felt the effects of sleep deprivation. Nightmares were common in the Land of the Dead, especially for those who had died violent deaths. Gustavo could only imagine what kinds of night terrors had plagued Ernesto de la Cruz when he first arrived. And he wondered ruefully if those same nightmares had returned to him recently, having suffered a repeat of his death at the Sunrise Spectacular. Gustavo had mercifully been spared recurring dreams of his tumble from the table top with a 200 pound dance partner, but lately he'd had to endure dreams of Héctor's death instead. How had de la Cruz done it? The living boy hadn't said; only that de la Cruz had murdered Héctor for his songs. Gustavo's subconscious supplied a number of suggestions, from a gunshot to poison to...other, more grotesque and violent means. And each and every dream would end with Gustavo standing over Héctor's lifeless body, laughing at him as he turned to shimmering orange dust and drifted away on the breeze.

It was all getting to be too much. Gustavo had to do something, anything, to make it right.

So he set out to try and find out what had become of Héctor, and where his family might be found.

The first place he looked was Shantytown, which sent shivers up and down his spine as he contemplated his own future demise when the living forgot him—though he prayed it was far off. He had descendants, including a few in de la Cruz's hometown, who could remember him for a while yet. He wondered if they had ever met that living boy, or if they would have learned the truth of de la Cruz by now.

The residents of Shantytown were of little help. All they could tell him was that none of them ever expected anyone to return to the ramshackle huts on the river, and that they weren't surprised that Héctor hadn't. They did, however, provide one useful clue: Héctor used to rave day in and day out about his wife and daughter, whom he described as a goddess and a princess. Some of the residents had been there since said goddess had arrived in the Land of the Dead, and had aided Héctor through his depression and the drunken stupor that followed her harsh rejection of him. The woman was a shoemaker, they said, well known in Santa Cecilia, where Héctor had lived.

From there, it was off to the Department of Family Reunions, the Santa Cecilia branch. It took some pleading and arm twisting to get them to release information about Héctor's family, but soon Gustavo was on his way to the Rivera zapatería, feeling very aprehensive.

As he approached the shop, he rehearsed over and over in his head the apology he was planning to give Héctor's widow. He figured that she must not be quite so angry with him anymore, as she had sung at the concert to his guitar accompaniment. He reached the door of the shop and, noting that the sign read "Open," invited himself in.

A small bell rang, and a female voice called out, "Someone will be with you momentarily!"

Gustavo called back, "Perdoname, but I am looking for the family of a man named..." He stopped mid-sentence as a man stepped into the hallway to greet him. The skeleton wore a half-torn, purple jacket and threadbare pants, and his identity was unmistakable.

Gustavo's eyes widened, and he didn't know whether to smile or duck his head in shame. "Héctor!"

* * *

Of all the people Héctor would've expected to greet in the foyer of the Rivera zapatería, Gustavo was pretty close to the bottom of his list. Not absolute bottom, but close enough to shock the former mariachi when he recognized the other man. Nor was he particularly in the mood to deal with someone who had looked for every opportunity to make fun of him from the moment he first told the story of his death (as he'd remembered it, anyway). Nonetheless, greeting customers and taking orders were among the few tasks he could actually do to make himself useful in the shop, and he was determined to do a satisfactory job. He didn't want to disappoint Imelda. Ever again.

So he screwed on the most plastic smile he possessed and said, "Gustavo! What brings you to the Rivera zapatería today? In need of new shoes?"

Gustavo gaped at him for a moment, looking as though he was entirely uncertain how to respond to Héctor's greeting. Finally, his wits seemed to return to him, and he replied, "Ah...no, actually. I was looking for you. Well, for your family, anyway. I didn't expect to find you here."

Héctor's face fell. He didn't recall revealing anything about his familial struggles to Gustavo or any of his band mates. "Well, the family and I have kind of made up, and they're letting me hang around, so..."

"No, I mean..." Gustavo interrupted. "I mean we had heard you'd been...forgotten."

"Oh," said Héctor. Realization dawned on him and his eyes widened. "Oh!" he repeated. "Oh, no no no, I'm fine. Really!" He gave Gustavo his best smile. "I have to say, I'm honestly surprised that you came to check up on me, though. Or at least my family."

Gustavo sighed and removed his fedora, fiddling with it in his hands. "Actually, the reason I came was...I wanted to apologize."

Héctor's brow ridges shot up. This was a new approach.

"The way my band mates and I treated you was shameful," Gustavo continued. "And hypocritical. Some of us...we have embarrassing stories of our own deaths. We really had no place to make fun of you. And when we found out you were actually murdered, we all felt just terrible. I thought that if I couldn't apologize to you directly, I could at least speak to your wife. I could apologize to her and give her my condolences."

Héctor stood staring in shock at the short skeleton. He decided he would just have to get used to being surprised from now on, as completely unexpected, out-of-the-blue events seemed to be happening quite a lot lately.

"I hope you can find it in your heart—figuratively speaking, of course—to forgive me one day," Gustavo concluded, glancing up at Héctor hopefully.

Héctor wasn't sure at all what to make of this situation. He was never known to be a petty or vengeful man in life, but 96 years of being rejected at every turn, then finding out his best friend was also his murderer, had certainly left an impression on him. He didn't trust so easily now. He wasn't altruistic to the point of almost willful ignorance; not when that's what had, if he were honest, actually gotten him killed. And he wasn't so ready to forgive, either. If Imelda didn't have to forgive easily, Héctor didn't either.

But at the same time, he couldn't _not_ acknowledge the sincerity of Gustavo's apology. The man had literally no reason to feign regret. Something had driven him to seek out the family of a man he was sure had been forgotten, just so he could alleviate himself of an apparent burden on his conscience.

Héctor thought back to his own gradual acceptance back into his family that had followed in the weeks after his brush with the final death. Each family member had tested his sincerity, and one or two still had their reservations about him. After Imelda had agreed to allow Héctor to stay with them on a probationary basis, he'd worked to win back the favor of his brothers-in-law. And had they ever made him work for it!

Which gave Héctor a deliciously evil idea. He gave Gustavo a disarming grin.

"Why, amigo, I'm touched! Moved to tears, even." He feigned wiping a tear from his eye and chuckled inwardly at the flicker of hope and relief that crossed Gustavo's face. Then he put on his most grave, serious look. "But I can't so easily overlook all those times you mocked and embarrassed me."

Gustavo's face fell. He should've known this wouldn't be so easy.

"But..." Héctor continued, holding up a finger in an authoritative manner. "I would also be a hypocrite if I did not at least offer you a second chance. I can be convinced of the sincerity of your apology if you're willing to follow it up by doing me a tremendous favor."

Gustavo placed his fedora back on his head. "Sí, anything you ask!" he said, a little too enthusiastically.

Héctor held out a hand to usher Gustavo into the workshop. "Come this way, if you please, señor. We have many chores to complete in order to keep our business and home running smoothly. And there are some tasks that may seem small, but are just as important as the big jobs."

As Héctor led Gustavo through the shop and toward the courtyard of the hacienda, drawing confused stares from his relatives, he winked at Óscar and Felipe. The two glanced at one another, intrigued, and got up to follow.

"You see, Gustavo, amigo, my lovely wife is out running very important errands for the shop today, and in the time that she's gone, she'd like me to do a chore that I don't particularly enjoy doing."

Gustavo began to feel apprehensive. "And what chore is that?" he asked.

"Clean Pepita's litter box. Pepita being Imelda's alebrije. I'm told she was the loveliest silver tabby in life, though as you can imagine, she's much more colorful now."

By this point, they had stopped walking and stood by a shed, overlooking most of the courtyard. Gustavo was a bit incredulous.

"Clean out a litter box! No sweat, amigo! We had cats in life too. That's seriously all you need me to do?"

Gustavo, unfortunately, missed the snickering that passed between the twins standing behind him. Héctor gleefully placed a pitchfork and shovel in each of Gustavo's hands.

"Good man," he said. "Pepita's litter box is right this way." He gestured to an enormous sandbox that covered nearly half the courtyard. A sandbox that looked like it was well past due for a cleaning and refilling.

Gustavo's jaw dropped.

"Oh, did I mention that Pepita's alebrije form is the size of a house?" Héctor said. "Yet she still uses the box. You can take the jaguar out of the house cat, but you can't take the house cat out of the jaguar. Or...I'm sure the saying goes something like that."

Gustavo swallowed and steeled himself for the arduous task ahead. He had promised any favor to Héctor, and he wasn't about to back down. This time he heard the laughter of the twins, but chose to ignore it. He marched up to the sandbox and pushed his shovel into the first clump of caquita-filled earth.

No sooner had he done so than he heard an ominous roar somewhere in the distance. He glanced up nervously.

"That's Pepita, out stretching her wings," Héctor called. "We always make sure she's away from the hacienda before we start this job."

Oh, wonderful. Not only was the "cat" actually a jaguar, but it could apparently fly as well. Gustavo muttered to himself, wondering how he had gotten himself into this literal mess.

* * *

It took a grueling half hour just to get the clumps of jaguar poop scooped out of the box and into a wagon Héctor had pointed out. While Gustavo worked, Héctor and the twins sat on a nearby bench, conversing leisurely at a volume that prevented Gustavo from making out what they were saying. They shared laughs, and Gustavo hoped that they were about family memories rather than jokes at his expense. Not that he didn't deserve it.

The smelly task of removing the clumps of excrement completed, Gustavo turned his attention to topping off the remaining clean litter. He was about to dump his second shovel full when he heard Pepita roar again, this time much closer.

"Oh, it sounds like Pepita's back a bit early," Héctor called.

Sure enough, an enormous winged jaguar sailed over the house and alighted in front of Gustavo, causing the terrified musician to drop his shovel as her piercing yellow eyes scrutinized him.

Héctor tisked. "Pepita doesn't much like strangers, or people she doesn't know well cleaning her litter box."

"You're just telling me this now?" Gustavo squeaked as Pepita's breath blew his fedora right off his head. "N-nice kitty," he said, carefully patting the alebrije on the nose.

Pepita let out a roar, and Gustavo turned and tried to scramble away. Pepita easily caught him in her mouth, tossed him in the air, let him land between her paws, and began swatting him back and forth, her tail flickering as she toyed with her prey.

Héctor watched with sadistic glee as Gustavo tried to get away, screaming the whole time. Eventually Pepita decided to pull the poor musician's skull right off his neck, flinging it into the litter box, where it became half-buried in the sand in an inverted position. She watched in amusement as Gustavo's body stumbled around between her paws, feeling desperately for the rest of itself.

Héctor laughed until he was doubled over and breathless. "You were right, cuñados, it really is funnier when it's happening to someone else!"

Óscar and Felipe joined his laughter.

"At this point, though, it's almost become an initiation," Óscar said, gasping for breath.

"A ritual to join the Rivera inner circle," Felipe added, wiping a tear from his eye.

"Well, I suppose we should go rescue him now," Héctor conceded.

With that, the three men tried to shoo Pepita off of Gustavo's body, while his head still lay in the sand, moaning and cursing. But Pepita was not finished with her toy and was not interested in giving it up. She pulled Gustavo's body away and yowled at the intruders.

"Come on, Pepita, play nice," Felipe pleaded.

"Give us back Héctor's friend and we'll give you some nice catnip," Óscar tried to bribe her.

Héctor rescued Gustavo's head. "Sorry, amigo, but Pepita can be a bit stubborn sometimes. We'll have your body back before you know it!"

Gustavo glowered at him. It was all he could do to keep from cursing out the man.

"What is going on here?!" a voice shouted from across the compound.

Everyone turned to see Imelda, arms crossed and looking as stern as ever.

"Diosa!" Héctor greeted. "We're, uh...we're having trouble getting Pepita to release an old acquaintance of mine."

Pepita was now holding Gustavo's flailing body in her mouth. Imelda marched right up to the jaguar and looked her in the eye.

"Pepita, drop!" she commanded.

Pepita obediently spit out the skeleton, which scrambled toward Héctor, who reconnected Gustavo's head to his cervical vertebrae.

Gustavo shook his arms in disgust. He was soaked in cat drool.

"I thought I told you to clean Pepita's litter box, querido," Imelda said, her voice edged with irritation. "Not pawn the job off on someone else."

Behind her, Óscar and Felipe snickered. She turned her ire on them. "I blame you tontos for this! You put the idea in his head the last time you pulled this! No more! From now on, each person does the task assigned to him! No trades, no tricks!"

"You have my word, mi amor," Héctor said. "Never again."

"We promise too," the twins chimed in unison.

Imelda grunted in response and turned to head back inside. "Come, Pepita, it's time for your supper."

The big cat eagerly followed.

Héctor turned to Gustavo. "Now we're even," he said with a smile.

Gustavo muttered something that Héctor couldn't quite catch before replying, "I suppose we are."

"You know what all this has me in the mood for?" Héctor said, throwing his arms around his brothers-in-law. "Helado!"

"Are you offering to buy, cuñado?" Óscar asked.

"Because we're short on cash," Felipe added.

"Oh, you know, I spent my last peso getting my jacket patched up," Héctor said. "Gee, if only we had a friend around who has money and still wants to make up for his past wrongdoings by hanging out with a trio of dorks at the local ice cream parlor." He looked pointedly at Gustavo.

The violinist sighed, walked over to retrieve his hat, then said, "Let's go, then. My treat."

As they made their way into town, Gustavo had to admit that as far as revenge plots go, he had gotten off surprisingly easy. And he'd maybe made a few worthwhile friends in the process.

* * *

 **AN:** If cake is a lie, ice cream is revenge.


	5. The Confessional

**The Confessional**

In which we learn about the past musical indiscretions of Elena's three children.

* * *

 **AN:** For those of you who are unaware, the family tree that was published in the novelization was put together by a third party, _not_ by the film staff or writers. And there is a mistake on it: Gloria and Carmen's names are switched. Gloria is supposed to be listed as Berto's wife, while Carmen is supposed to be listed as one of Elena and Franco's children. Lee Unkrich and Adrian Molina have both pointed to and named each family member, so we know which character is which. And we know that the one they refer to as Gloria is Berto's wife because she was present in the original design for the family, is the only one of the tías seen interacting with Berto's children, is always holding the twins' hands (or just Benny's in the original design), and is stated in a bonus feature to be Luisa's sister (and if you draw the two side by side, their shared features become obvious). Meanwhile, latecomer Carmen (who was added to the family around the same time as Manny) is very clearly designed to be Elena and Franco's daughter. She looks very much like Elena and has several of Franco's features as well (including his cowlick). Not once do we see her interacting with any of the kids, even in the promo materials. These simple facts make it perfectly clear that Gloria is _not_ a Rivera by blood; Carmen is. So in my fics, as well as in my fan art henceforth, I will refer to Gloria as Berto's wife and Luisa's sister, and to Carmen as Elena and Franco's daughter, and Berto and Enrique's sister.

Also, please note that my knowledge of how a Catholic confession works comes entirely from watching M*A*S*H and Leverage.

* * *

Padre Ignacio was used to having children come to confession, and they tended to be some of his favorite cases. The sins they confessed were the epitome of childhood innocence, and more than once he'd had to assure them that theirs wasn't a crime unless they intended it to be in their hearts. Oh, to be sure, there were actual sins involved; a boy accidentally broke his mamá's vase with his fútbol and then tried to cover it up, or a girl made fun of another girl in school because of her clothes or some such thing. But then there were the cases of, "I burned the pan dulce accidentally, and Abuelita was sad," or, "I had a really bad stomach ache at school, and I threw up on the teacher when he asked me what was wrong." He love hearing the relief and joy in the children's voices when he assured them that these things weren't in and of themselves sins, and if they had already apologized and tried to make it right, they had already absolved themselves.

Not to mention most of the kids who sat opposite the panel from him in the confessional were just so darn adorable.

There were some kids who routinely attended confession, often because their mothers gave them no choice but to regularly attend mass and make use of the padre's legendary patience and wisdom in seeking forgiveness for the sins they'd apparently accumulated during the week. And then there were some kids that Ignacio didn't see often because their parents were so strict as to prevent their little "angels" from ever needing the confessional—and said children knew the wrath that would befall them at home if it was discovered they'd had to make their way to the church between services for any reason.

Ignacio wasn't entirely sure where Elena Rivera fell on that spectrum. All he knew was that the boy squirming in the seat on the other side of the panel now was one he hadn't seen here before, though he was a familiar face in the early, music-free Sunday mass.

Berto was about eight years old, chubby, and seemed to love fútbol as much as the next boy in Santa Cecilia. Ignacio initially guessed the boy was about to confess the common crime of breaking some precious item belonging to his mamá, or perhaps a window. Ignacio prepared his usual speech assuring the child that accidents happen, that it's important to take responsibility for them when they are one's fault, and that one should never lie about them. But what he got was an entirely unexpected confession.

As he took his seat on his side of the confessional, he slid back the panel, leaving just a dark screen between himself and his young parishioner. "Blessings, my son," he began. "What have you come to confess to me today?"

Berto didn't seem to relax any. He remained quiet for a moment, though he was still audibly fidgeting in his seat. Ignacio was about to repeat himself when Berto took a deep breath and began his confession.

"Bless me, padre, for I have sinned. It has been...actually, I don't think I've ever been here before. So...eight years, five months and ten days since my last confession? Or...maybe eight years, four months and ten days since my baptism? I-I don't know. Does a baptism count as a confession? Mamá said I was a month old, but I don't remember, so..."

"My son, you're rambling," Ignacio said gently, stifling a chuckle. This wasn't an uncommon opening for children. "You don't have to recite anything perfectly. Remember, the Lord sees the heart."

Berto seemed to tense at that. Apparently that wasn't the answer he was looking for. Ignacio guessed that this would be another case of inward rebellion.

"Please, continue," the priest bade him. After a moment, Berto obeyed.

"It was all Javi's idea. We were playing fútbol after school, me and two of my friends, when Javi and two of the other older boys came and started picking on us. They tried to take the ball away even though it was Alejandro's ball that he'd just gotten for his birthday. We tried to stop them, and Javi said we could have the ball back if we could beat them in a fútbol game. So I said, 'It's already our ball, so that's not good enough. What else do we get? I say you give us the ball back _and_ buy us helado.' And my friends agreed. So then Javi said, 'Well, if _we_ win, we get to keep your ball, _and_ you have to give us free cleats, zapatero.' And I said, 'You're on!' Even though I knew Mamá would probably never agree to make free cleats, I could try to make them in secret, maybe, even though I've never made shoes before."

Berto paused his narrative to catch his breath. Ignacio waited patiently for him to continue, figuring this story would end with Berto trying and failing terribly at making shoes, and in the process wasting shop resources or damaging one of the business' machines.

"So then we started playing," Berto continued. "And we lost, really badly. So we lost the ball, and I owed Javi a new pair of cleats. But I told him that I couldn't do it. Mamá would never give them away, and it would be a long time before I could save up money to buy cleats from her. So I told Javi that he would have to wait. But he didn't want to wait. So he told me that I had to do something else for him. He said I had to come to his house and clean his room. I figured that was fair, so I did. When I got there, he had a lot of records. He said he was going to sit on his bed and listen to his records while I sorted them. I told him I wasn't allowed to listen to music. He laughed at me and said, 'You must be a baby if you're scared of a little rock n' roll.' And I said, 'I'm not scared of music, I'm scared of Mamá's chancla.' And he laughed even harder and kept calling me a baby who always did everything my mamá told me to do. I yelled at him to stop teasing and said, 'I'm not scared of her, and I'm not a baby!' So he said, 'Prove it. Put on that record.' So I did, and he got mad because I didn't know how to set the needle, and he had to set it again, and when it started playing, I..."

The pause in Berto's story was followed by more shuffling in his seat. "Go on," Ignacio gently coaxed.

"Well...I liked it. It was some crazy stuff, and by the end of the night, both of us were singing along to Javi's records. He had some from that Ernesto hombre, and even some from America. And even though I didn't know the words very well, especially the ones in English, and Javi said I was a terrible singer, we still had a lot of fun, and I wanted to go back. And I did. And now, for the past month or so, I've been sneaking to Javi's house to listen to Ernesto and Elvis and some other music."

Berto ended his story and sat in uncomfortable silence. Ignacio waited for him to continue, and when he didn't, the priest was confused.

"So you are confessing to...listening to music?"

"Sí, padre," the boy said glumly.

Ignacio was at a loss for words. He fumbled for something to say for a moment, when suddenly it dawned on him who he was speaking to. Everyone knew well the ban the Riveras had on music, and that they didn't attend later masses because of it. But Ignacio never would've imagined that the music ban extended to any and all activity outside the home, even when the children weren't being supervised.

He sighed, then prepared his absolution speech.

"My son, as I understand it, what you are confessing to is an act of defiance of your mamá's most important rule in your family."

"Sí, padre."

"Well, as I said, the Lord looks at the heart. Rid yourself of the rebellion in your heart. Children are to honor their father and mother, even if they don't understand their rules. Perhaps one day the rule against music will change..."

Berto snorted. "Yeah right, that won't happen in a million years!"

"But..." Ignacio continued, "you still need to honor your mamá in everything you do, and that includes following her teachings even when you're not at home. That's the only way to get her to change her mind on a rule you believe is unfair. You must exercise respect. Do you understand, my son?"

"Sí, padre," Berto confirmed for a third time.

"Now, go in peace." Ignacio gave his blessing in Latin, as usual, and Berto hopped down from the confessional seat.

"Gracias, padre. I will try to always honor my mamá and papá."

Ignacio smiled. Berto was always a very dutiful son, as could be expected of a firstborn. He would certainly take today's lesson to heart.

As for Ignacio, he'd have to put this one on the list of most peculiar confessions he'd ever heard.

* * *

Teenagers were a common sight in the confessional booth, and many of their sins related to discovering their sexuality for the first time. Ignacio was certain he'd heard it all, and he would mentally flip a coin to bet on whether a teen in the confessional wanted absolution for sneaking to a girlfriend or boyfriend's house, or whether there would be some other act of rebellion involved.

When he recognized the soft voice of Carmen Rivera on the other side of the screen, he knew it would very likely be the latter, but didn't entirely rule out the former. The 15-year-old girl was quite shy, and didn't seem to be attached to a boy at all. Nonetheless, Ignacio knew from experience that one should always be wary of the quiet ones.

He need not have worried. Carmen might as well be a novice in the abbey. Today, she was here to confess to something else.

"Bless me, padre, for I have sinned. It has been about four years since my last confession."

Ignacio had to wrack his brain for that memory, but he finally found it; a trembling 11-year-old confessing to taping shut the mouth of her then-four-year-old brother, whom she'd said was driving her crazy with his constant noise making. It seemed that little Enrique fancied himself a professional animal impersonator at that age, much to his quiet-loving sister's chagrin. Carmen had felt just awful about it afterward, and seemed to be very comforted by the advice and assurances Ignacio had given her.

Ignacio nodded, acknowledging that he'd heard the girl's opening. Carmen gave a shaky sigh and continued.

"One of the most popular girls in school had her quinceañera recently, and everybody who was anybody wanted to be there. Even though I'm not really a big fan of parties, my friends convinced me that I had to go; that I couldn't be shy forever, and that this was the perfect opportunity to come out of my shell. But the girl who was having the party was the daughter of a mariachi. So I knew there would be even more music than usual there. But all of my friends were going; Gloria, Ana Maria, Lucha...all of them. So...I decided they were right; I couldn't be shy my whole life. So the night of the party, I pretended to go to bed early. I dressed up as best I knew how, and I snuck out. And...while I liked the music and all, especially since we never listen to it normally, I didn't much like the party. Most of my friends were hanging out with other people, and I felt really out of place. On top of that, I realized that Gloria wasn't there, and the reason she wasn't was because she'd decided to go out on a date instead. With my brother, of all people. She wanted me to go to that party so bad, then ditched me for my brother. At least, that's what it felt like to me. So I went home and got back into the house okay, and sort of just...cried myself to sleep. I was pretty much over it by the next day, but...I just felt like I needed to come here."

"Sneaking out for a party" was not an unusual confession for Ignacio to hear, and he was always relieved to know that the rebellious teen in question had come away from that situation unharmed and with all dignities still intact. Still, it was a bit surprising to hear this sort of confession from the shy Rivera girl. Though the musical aspect was a bit less surprising after hearing Berto's confession years before.

"My child," he said, "many young people find themselves in situations of tremendous peer pressure, and often they find that giving into that pressure is unrewarding. They also frequently learn that the peers who pressured them are no more daring or courageous than they are. It's likely that your friends didn't intend to put such pressure on you to attend, and I'm certain that Gloria had no idea that changing her own mind about the party in favor of your brother could possibly hurt you. Every young person wants to be liked by their peers, and some will go to dangerous lengths to achieve such a goal. They are afraid of rejection. But if you stand firm on your values, even in the face of rejection, you will find that in the long run, you are more accepted and respected, because you are seen as brave."

"But padre, I'm so shy," Carmen protested, quietly of course. "I'm not brave at all."

"My child, bravery doesn't require being brash and outgoing. Some of the bravest people I know are actually very shy. As for sneaking out for parties, I have complete confidence that you won't be repeating that mistake."

"No, padre."

"Then you are absolved already, my child. Go in peace." He gave the teen his benediction.

"Gracias, padre," Carmen said as she left the booth, a smile evident in her voice.

* * *

As the elder two of the Rivera children approached adulthood, Ignacio saw more of them in the confessional, bringing routine concerns and sounding almost bored, as though they were required to come. Carmen always enjoyed hearing the padre's advice that was given in response to her brief, quiet confessions, but Berto was in danger of becoming as detached from the whole concept of confession as his papá. It was pretty clear that Franco and the kids only went to regular confession because Elena insisted on it. Elena herself was a routine attendee, and most of her sins had to do with losing her temper, though she apparently never truly regretted threatening errant musicians with the chancla when they strayed too close to her home with their melodies. The youngest members of the family, it seemed, were exempt from the confession requirement. So it was just a bit of a surprise when Enrique, who currently held that title, showed up in the booth.

Ignacio was familiar enough with the Riveras by this point that he was certain the ten-year-old's first confession would have something to do with music. He was not disappointed.

"Good morning, my son," Ignacio greeted as usual. The boy on the other side of the screen remained silent. "Do you seek absolution from the Lord?" the priest prompted.

A deep, sharp breath was all the warning Ignacio got before Enrique launched full-throttle into his confession.

"Bless me, padre for I have sinned, I have never been to confession before and I'm sorry I never have and I'll try to do better I promise and I just want to stop feeling so bad about watching that movie at Andrés' house and..."

"Whoa, whoa, slow down, my son! I'm having a hard time following you. Let's take it one step at a time, okay?"

Enrique clamped his mouth shut and nodded.

"Alright, then. First of all, don't worry about this being your first time here. You're young; don't feel like you're required to come every day, or even every week. Just when you need to, alright?"

The boy nodded again.

"Now, what's this about a movie?"

"Well..." Enrique began. And suddenly he was off again. "I was over at Andrés' house and he wanted to watch a movie, and I said sure, why not, and he said he wanted to watch a new movie that he got on video and it was 'Los Tres Caballeros,' and he said there was a lot of singing in it, and he asked me if it was okay with my mamá that there was lots of singing, and I really didn't want to watch the movie with the volume all the way down like Mamá has us turn ours down when there's going to be music because Andrés' tele doesn't have captions, so I lied and told him that it was perfectly okay with Mamá if I watch movies at friends' houses with music as long as I don't sing at home, even though Mamá doesn't want us listening to music _at all_ no matter where we are. (gasp) So Andrés put in the movie and we watched it, and we both really loved the movie, like a whole awful lot, and our favorite character is the rooster—his name is Panchito Pistoles—because he's really funny and he's from Mexico, and the other two are from America and Brazil, so it's nice having someone made by Disney who's from Mexico, and we watched it, like, three times in a row, and by the time I had to go home, we knew all of the songs, and I was singing them while walking home and I almost kept singing them when I got home, and now whenever Andrés and I hang out together, we secretly sing the songs when we're sure my brother and sister can't hear us."

Enrique gave another large gasp as he finished his flurry of a tale.

Ignacio's head spun as he tried to pick all the relevant bits of information out of the story. Something about lying to a friend about the family's strict music ban, and some kind of Mexican rooster who was friends with an American and a Brazilian. Apparently it was a Disney film. Ignacio didn't concern himself much with the Disney brand, so the film was unfamiliar to him. He assumed it was a cartoon. As he processed all this, Enrique sat utterly silent, as if awaiting his judgment. Ignacio quietly cleared his throat and prepared his best, most gentle answer.

"So...your friend wanted to watch a movie with a lot of songs in it?"

"Sí, padre."

"And you lied to him about your family's rules?"

"Sí."

"My son, I believe you know exactly where you went wrong here."

Enrique didn't respond, but Ignacio watched his silhouette slump.

"The best course of action here is to be honest with your friend. Let him know that from here on out, you are not, in fact, permitted music at a friend's house, as you wish to honor your family's rules. Confusing though they may be. We don't always understand our parents' rules, but it's important to respect them as best we can. And that most certainly includes not lying to friends about what those rules are. It may be easier in the future for your friend to pressure you into violating your family's rules a second time. You need to be prepared now to explain to him that you made a mistake before, you're sorry you lied to him, and that you wish to honor your family from here on out. Do you understand?"

"Sí, padre."

The response was quiet, not unlike his sister. But the priest heard it well enough and knew it was sincere.

"Excellent. Then go in peace, my son." Ignacio bestowed the benediction and dismissed the boy, who was off like a shot the moment he left the confessional.

* * *

Decades passed, and a new generation of Riveras began to attain adulthood. Ignacio watched over his parish, noting what changed and what stayed the same. Things mostly stayed the same, and he preferred it that way. But one year, sometime after Dia de los Muertos, the entire town was in upheaval over the apparent crimes of their favorite idol, Ernesto de la Cruz. And the source of that upheaval was altogether entirely unexpected. Miguel Rivera, son of Elena and Franco's youngest, had discovered that his great-great-grandfather was the true author of de la Cruz's songs, and as a result of this discovery, music had apparently returned to the Rivera household.

Ignacio was the first outside the family to learn this, apparently, as on the Sunday following Dia de los Muertos, the family missed the early, music-free mass (that, he'd discovered in the years since Berto's odd confession, had actually been set up at the behest of Imelda Rivera, who had instituted the music ban), and had instead shown up at the more traditional mass, bringing along their ailing matron, Señora Coco Rivera, the town's oldest denizen. Their presence there had shocked the priest, who decided he was much too old now for such surprises. He watched in awe as the music seemed to revitalize Coco, her face lighting up as she attempted to hum along. She turned to her great-grandson more than once and asked him if he might like to be a choir boy; his voice was apparently very good. Miguel laughed it off and told her that for the time being, he only wanted to sing for his family.

After the service, Ignacio couldn't resist stopping the Riveras and asking them what had happened.

"I was, understandably, very surprised to see you at this particular service," he admitted. "You've...suddenly begun to allow music?"

"We're trying it out a bit," Elena said. "In church first, and Miguel can only play or sing for his Mamá Coco, because it helps her remember."

"But things are definitely getting better," Miguel said excitedly. "I promised that I would never, ever, _ever_ let music become more important than family, and in return, Papá promised to help me find out more about my great-great-grandfather. We found out that he tried to come home, but he died before he could, and that's why he didn't come back. We also found out..."

"Whoa, mijo, let's not discuss the whole situation just yet," Enrique warned. "We don't know anything for certain right now. We still have to do our research."

"Sí, Papá," Miguel said. "Sorry. I'm just...really excited."

He certainly must've been, judging by the ear to ear grin he wore. Ignacio found it to be contagious, and he smiled back at the boy. He studied the family for a moment, recalling the first time each of Elena's children found their way into his confessional.

"So I take it I won't be taking similar confessions from any of the kids to the ones I got from their fathers and tía at their ages?" the padre goaded, pointing at each of the offending Riveras in turn.

Elena scowled and turned to her offspring, who all suddenly found their handmade shoes to be very fascinating. "What confessions?" she said, her voice low, sounding almost like a growl.

"Now, Mamá, you know about the sanctity of the confessional," Berto said with a nervous chuckle.

"And it was so long ago," Carmen added. "I don't even really remember what happened."

That was a lie, and Ignacio could tell. He was sure to see her in the confessional booth soon.

Enrique rubbed the back of his neck. "We were kids. We didn't know any better."

"Know any better about what?" Elena prodded, fists on her hips.

The rest of the family watched the exchange, breath collectively held, waiting for the response. The trio of siblings looked at each other nervously, but said nothing.

"Mijos?" Elena said, her voice clear that this was their last warning.

"Oh, look at the time!" Berto said suddenly, glancing at his wrist. "I need to work on repairing one of the machines today, plus there are the twins to feed and put down for their nap. I really need to get back to the shop."

With that, he turned and began jogging back toward the zapatería.

"Berto, wait!" Enrique cried, taking off after him. "You'll need help with that machine! The one you're talking about! I know exactly which one!"

"I'll get lunch ready!" Carmen volunteered, chasing after her brothers.

This did not please Elena. She swept her sandal off her foot and charged after them.

"You kids get back here right now! Mijos! None of you are too big to take over my knee! I want the truth and I want it now!"

As her voice faded into the distance, blocked largely by buildings and trees, the rest of the family and their priest let out the laughter they'd been suppressing. Even Mamá Coco chuckled. Miguel was clutching his ribs and howling with laughter, nearly doubled over from it.

"Well, padre, I think you'll need to upgrade your confessional to accommodate three people at a time," Franco said as he caught his own breath.

"I think you're right," Ignacio said, wiping a tear of mirth from his eye. "In the meantime, I'll get my stole ready. And prepare a hellfire and brimstone speech that's just to their mamá's liking—sprinkled with a touch of my signature mercy."

"Please do," Franco chuckled. "They'll need all the mercy they can get."


End file.
